


The Naming Of Foxes

by tielan



Series: the Drift is compatibility, not destiny [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Desire, Developing Relationship, Drift Hangover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Ghost Drifting, Loss, Love, Parallels, Post-Canon, Romance, The Drift (Pacific Rim), Tumblr: jaegercon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Drift is compatibility, not destiny. Or the story of how Mako Mori and Raleigh Becket fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. kitsu-ne (comes and sleeps)

**Author's Note:**

> Contains references to events/relationships spoken of in _Pacific Rim: Tales From Year Zero_ but it's not necessary reading.
> 
> I was hoping to have the full fic by JaegerCon this weekend, but the muse refused to co-operate (Drift?) and so there was much angst of the non-character kind. As a result this is Part 1, with Part 2 to come later.
> 
> The title was taken from the Wikipedia page on _kitsune: etymology_.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shouldn’t be able to hear Mako through the screaming and the shouting, but she cuts through the noise.
> 
> Raleigh thinks he would hear her calling him from anywhere in the world.

On the first day of the rest of their lives, Raleigh wakes with Mako’s back pressed up against his front, his face in her hair, her legs long against him. He’s doing the pressing, too – his hand over hers, into her stomach, keeping her flush against him.

She knows the moment he’s awake. He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know she’s opened hers.

He feels her withdrawal – not in rejection, just the careful removal of Mako from Mako-and-Raleigh. And he lets her go even while it leaves him empty, his palms pressed flat into the warmth where she lay.

Raleigh’s familiar with the close-quarters itch left by the Drift connection – the Drift hangover. He and Yancy would jostle and wrestle, go out and get laid, or practise their moves in the Kwoon Combat Room until the sharpest edge had blunted.

That first morning he woke up without Yancy—

“He would be proud.” Mako tilts her head at him from the edge of the bed. “And glad.”

He swallows and looks away. He hasn’t spoken of Yancy to anyone since he walked away from Anchorage – not to the psychs, not to the reporters, not even to Jazmine the one time she asked.

Mako doesn’t need him to speak of Yancy. He doesn’t need her to speak of Pentecost.

They don’t need to speak at all.

Instead, she slides one leg back in under the covers, and nudges his knee with her foot. And when he shifts over, she settles in beside him, on her back, shoulder to shoulder – like their minds connecting in the Drift.

* * *

Cameras flash with sharp light. Teeth flash with sharper questions.

“ _Are you aware of the lawsuit being brought up against the Jaeger program for the waste and misuse of valuable resources?_ ”

Herc Hansen’s expression is grim, his words terse. “The PPDC did what was necessary to close the Breach.”

“ _Miss Mori, do you count yourself fortunate to have been singled out by Marshal Pentecost now that you’ve gotten to pilot a Jaeger?_ ”

Mako’s mouth is a tight line at the subtle insult to her. “I count myself fortunate to have known the Marshal, as does everyone in this Shatterdome.”

“ _Mr. Becket, h_ _ow did it feel to climb back into a Jaeger again after the tragic loss of your brother off the Alaskan coast five years ago? I can’t imagine it was easy._ ”

Raleigh stares at the fluffy-haired blonde long enough to have the crowd rustling, uneasy at the implied intrusion into something nobody else dared bring up. “It wasn't easy” he tells them at last. “But as co-pilot to Miss Mori, closing the Breach, it was worth it."

He hopes they take the hint; Mako is a pilot in her own right, not a hanger-on, and what the suits wouldn't try, Stacker Pentecost succeeded in doing.

“ _So are you and Miss Mori together, then_?”

“No.”

It comes from both of them. Same time. Same tone.

The crowd ripples. Surprise or amusement? Raleigh can’t tell.

What nobody can see – and what Mako doesn’t sense – is that Raleigh’s mouth said _No_ , but his heart said _Yes_.

* * *

“It’s a fucking circus is what it is,” Herc mutters as they step out of the car in and onto the carpet leading into the lobby of the New York hotel. The chill is like a slap, no less than crowds screaming at them from beyond the barriers, cameras flashing like a personal lightning storm. Cops and security strain to hold back the mad crush of people. “Max!”

Max plants his feet, observes the screaming, squealing crowds yelling at him, and whuffs once, before turning his back on them and hurrying after his master, dismissive.

Raleigh says nothing as he drops back a step to allow Mako to go before him. He remembers this from his first days piloting. Fame and attention beyond anything he and Yancy ever imagined or dreamed or wanted, back when the Jaeger program was still new – when the Jaegers were going to save the world.

Now they have.

If Raleigh looks back, will he see Yancy a step behind him, waiting for him to go in ahead?

He finds himself pausing, half-turning to look.

“Raleigh.” Mako has paused at the entrance to the hotel, and the early morning sunlight gleams off the blue-dyed tips of her hair. He shouldn’t be able to hear her through the screaming and the shouting, but she cuts through the noise.

And he goes to her, falling into step beside her.

He thinks he would hear her calling him from anywhere in the world.

* * *

The day is full of people from the PPDC – Shatterdome commanders, Rangers, former Jaeger pilots, and many support staff who kept the program going through the years of loss and loss and loss.

Raleigh meets people he’d only dreamed of meeting, even back when he and Yancy were the golden boys of the Jaeger program. They were superstars back in their day, but these men and women are _legends_ – Sergio D’onofrio, Yun Wai-Tse, Jelita and Amir Sudyono, Maria deLeon and Aline Vegas, Jasper Schoenfeld, Helen Jiang…

Now he and Mako have joined their number, their names down in history as the Jaeger pilots who closed the Breach.

It’s dizzying and difficult after so many years spent outside the Jaeger program. Even the Shatterdome in Hong Kong wasn’t exactly welcoming when he arrived.

The inclusion is nice, but the attention is stifling. What Raleigh wants at this moment is space – peace and quiet and Mako sitting by him – but these aren’t people he can just ask to go away. It’s not until Mako excuses herself after yet another condolence and goes outside to the balcony that he feels he can break from the crowds around him and go after her.

Outside, the mouth of the Hudson River ripples with the morning wind, and Raleigh takes a deep breath as he moves to stand beside her.

“Are you okay?”

“There is no fear in this ocean.” She looks south, towards the sun. “No _kaiju_ blue, no monsters from the deep. There never will be, because of us.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I must, or else _sensei_ died for nothing.” Mako turns, her gaze steady on his, her expression almost serene – but for the glimmer of a smile on her lips. “You needed space to breathe. We both did.”

Peace and quiet and Mako standing beside him.

He doesn’t wonder how she knew.

* * *

It’s past midnight when the knock comes softly at the connecting door. He crawls out of bed to let her in.

Mako shivers a little at first, but curls up against Raleigh without a word, and although she shifts when his hand curves over her hip, she doesn’t protest the touch.

She sleeps, and so does he.

They dream.

 _He smiles at her and the air is suddenly like a Hong Kong monsoon – so hard to breathe. She bites back a laugh when he lands on his back in the Kwoon, but he takes his defeat well – he knows his limits. A knock on her door and a pile of notes has been left tied with a scarlet strip of nubbled silk, like a gift. Deft hands on the greasy pieces of a reconstituted muscle-strand engine. Deft hands on her flesh, the touch tender even if the skin is rough. His mouth is ripe with sake, his body fits to hers so eagerly – not a Ranger’s muscled mass, suitable for piloting a_ Jaeger _, but beautiful – and his laughter feels like the sunrise and the hope of morning after the dark_ kaiju _night…_

They wake up locked together, clothes on and breathing hard. A tangle of limbs and bodies, pressed as close as they can be without actually having sex.

He’s rock-hard in his pyjama bottoms. Every panting breath Mako takes presses her breasts against him through the thin cotton of her top. But she’s utterly still beneath him, and when he lifts his head, her eyes are shuttered and shadowed.

The question he was going to ask dies on his lips, unspoken.

“Sorry.” He eases himself off her, but doesn’t climb out of the bed. He’s not ashamed of wanting her; he just wishes she wanted him back.

“It was my dream.” Mako hesitates a moment before she turns her head towards him. “His name was Vijay.”

Raleigh knows. The memories gather like the bruises and aches after a fight – a friendship with laughter, his admiration, her invitation, and, in the end, love.

This thing they have – the connection after the Drift, the intimacy of mind and body – it’s the start of something more, but it’s not love, not yet.

Not for her anyway.

* * *

“You look like a man with a lot on his mind, Mr. Becket.”

Raleigh glances up from the bench where he’s waiting for Mako to get out of the meeting with the UN Subcommittee, and promptly stands. It makes him tower over the man seated in the wheelchair, but not to stand would be unthinkable.

“Lieutenant D’onofrio. It’s an honor, sir.”

“The honor is all mine.” The once-handsome face is now thin and skeletal, but life still burns in the dark eyes of the first Jaeger pilot. “Thanks to you and Miss Mori, Earth has a future.”

He fumbles for words and comes up with a quote. “ _If I have seen further it is only by standing on the shoulders of giants._ ”

“Or in their Conn-Pods.” His voice is reedy, in the last stages of the cancer that’s already claimed all his colleagues, but his smile is warm. “Please, sit. You’ve been through the lion’s den already?”

“Yeah. Mako’s still in there, though.”

“She reminds me a little of Caitlin,” D’onofrio murmurs. “Focused.”

“Honed.” Like the swords her father made.

“She reminds me of Cait in other ways, too.” The older man looks directly at Raleigh, no sideways glances or dissembling. “Caitlin was still with Dr. Schoenfeld when I met her. Did you know that?”

“We…weren’t supposed to.”

“But gossip travels.” D’onofrio sits back in his wheelchair, resigned. “The attraction was instant on my side, but took more time on hers. Even after she initiated the first Drift, she held a part of herself back.”

“The Drift doesn’t allow—”

“No. But a wise Ranger respects his partner’s headspace when she wants room.”

“I wasn’t—” Raleigh stops and looks down at his hands, at the white cuffs of the shirt beneath the dress blues jacket they laid out for him this morning. “It was her dream.”

“You’re sharing a bed.” It’s not a question. Raleigh opens his mouth to protest, but is stalled when D’onofrio lifts an unsteady hand to halt him. “I’m not the neuropsychs or the media. I’m just a guy who’s been where you’re standing, looking at a woman who isn’t ready for him – not that way.”

He catches his breath at the dream-memory of passion and tenderness and laughter and _love –_ but not with him.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you and Miss Mori are the last link in the chain of the Jaeger pilots that began with Cait and I. Because you looked like a man with things on his heart, and a willingness to listen.” The gaunt face takes on a faintly embarrassed expression. “And because Cait always said I was a romantic at heart.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Every day.” His gaze grows distant beneath brows worn thin from the anti-cancer treatments. “The Drift is compatibility, Mr. Becket, not destiny. Cait had to make a choice and I was lucky that I was hers. But even if she hadn’t…”

“You’d have loved her anyway.” Raleigh is beginning to understand.

“We didn’t have much time together, but we made a difference – to the world and to each other.” D’onofrio regards him. “You and Miss Mori have already made a difference – you’ve saved the world. Now you have the time. The question is what will you do with it?”

* * *

 

Tonight, the dreams are his.

 _Brittle snow and emptiness, blood and breath pounding through his body. He knocks a bottle off the table while making an expansive gesture and broken glass shatters sharply. Yancy laughs. “First rule of drinking, Rals. Pace yourself.” The girls are pretty and flirty and eager to get a real, live Jaeger pilot into bed. He can’t remember her name anymore, but she danced like there was nobody watching and fucks like a goddess and her eyes are blue—no, the tips of her hair are blue—and Mako arches under him but her hands shove at his shoulders—and he rolls off her and falls out of bed and lands on the decking of the Conn-Pod. The circuitry suit still burns at his skin, but that’s nothing to the hole in his soul–Yancy—Yancy—and the stranger’s face spins past him like the ghostly shadows of another life before she emerges from the white in a black drivesuit splattered with_ kaiju _blue..._

“Raleigh!”

Her voice cuts through the pain and the fog, like his Jaeger's horn cutting through the night.

He blinks into the shadows of her face, then buries his face in her neck and clings to her like a child, shivering. The room is warm, but he’s still collapsed on the beach with the blowing wind stinging his skin. Mako’s here in his arms, flesh and blood and a moment’s hesitation before her arms come around him but when they do, they hold him tight. Her cheek rests against his head and Raleigh can smell the steel beneath her skin. She’s warm and real and _here_ , her fingers stroking through his hair.

There’s a second or two where he’d swear she was breathing for him.

But even through the storm of memories, through the warmth that clings to him where they touch, Raleigh knows Sergio D’onofrio was right; Mako’s not ready for him.

If Raleigh’s honest with himself, he’s not ready for her, either.

He wants Mako - wants the intimacy and intensity of the Drift connection between in the physical world. But he needs this more – her touch, her acceptance of him, of the scars Anchorage left in him, of the hole torn into his soul when Yancy died. The pain is a part of him – as much as vengeance is a part of her.

Raleigh can’t change that, and she wouldn’t, and he doesn’t want to lose her, too – he _can’t_ lose her—

“You won’t.”

“But this is part of me. The fear.” He doesn’t lift his head from her throat. “The hole from Yancy will always be there.”

“You would not be the man you are today without it.” Her palm cups his cheek and she lifts his head, although they can’t really see each other in the curtained room, mere outlines in the early dark. “But I cannot—I cannot fill that.”

Raleigh takes a deep breath. “I know.” He leans his cheek into her hand and closes his eyes. “The need—It’s the hangover. We’re making it worse, sharing a bed.”

A quiver runs through her, and the hand still on his neck clutches convulsively. “So we give this up?”

The break in her voice helps; she might not want _him_ – not yet, anyway – but she doesn’t want to lose what they have.

He doesn’t want to lose her either.

Raleigh remembers the intense physicality of the Drift hangover with Yancy. Need, yes, but differently realised, differently dealt with. Kwoon combat training, wrestling, their arms hung around each other’s shoulders as they swaggered through the halls, loud music like thunder in their ears, and poker games that turned into freaky displays of clairvoyance. Sharing their quarters, moving around each other like binary stars – too burning, too bright.

In hindsight, he can see how his brother channelled them both – encouraging some aspects of the Drift, discouraging others. Even back when they started Drifting together, Yancy’d been mature enough to know that whatever connection was formed in the Drift, whatever connection remained from the Drift, they still had to live as individuals out of it.

 _We’ve been bingeing on the Drift hangover._ The realisation is cold down his spine, down the arm that still sometimes aches. Just as sudden is the recognition that he’s the older one now, the experienced one. He’ll be the one to set the boundaries for this partnership.

_The Drift is compatibility, Mr. Becket, not destiny._

“We step back.” It’s one of the most difficult things he’s ever said, clawed terror clutching at his gut. But once the words are spoken, the rest of it seems easier. “We take this into other spaces.”

“Combat training?”

“Among other things.” Shared meals and shared music; jogging and weights, discussions and arguments, games of chance and choice, connection and competition, and sitting in silence listening to nothing more than the sound of the other one breathing. Every Drifting pair works out their connection differently, according to the personalities of the pilots, and the permanency of the partnership.

One way or the other, this partnership is staying. And Raleigh has two things Mako’s lover never did: the Drift connection, and time.

He turns his face into Mako’s touch and kisses her palm. “You’re over the limit,” he murmurs, “I’m keeping you.”

Her breath hiccups – a small, startled gasp. “Okay.”

Raleigh’s mouth curves against her skin.

Mako doesn’t know it yet, but it’s a promise to them both.


	2. ki-tsune (always comes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apart from those six short months, all Mako ever wanted was to fight _kaiju_ , to become the monster they feared. To be what _sensei_ taught her to be with every breath he drew – a woman who would not lay down to die, who would keep fighting to the last, who would be a part of ending the war, whatever form that took.
> 
> She has done that – killed a _kaiju_ , piloted a Jaeger, closed the Breach.
> 
> What now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the delay, things have been slightly mad in my section of the world. I hope you enjoy the story!

The first week is the hardest.

Mako sleeps in fragments, little shards of rest that cannot be pieced together into a whole. She wakes often and cold and early, and lies in her covers, wishing only to knock on the door and climb into Raleigh’s bed again.

But she does not want him as a lover, so sleeping in his bed is neither right for her nor fair to him.

* * *

Herc lays it all out in his simple, straightforward style.

“The PPDC want to reinstate the Jaeger program. Scaled down, of course. Keep the Hong Kong Shatterdome as a watchpost with a couple of active Jaegers, a _kaiju_ research division and Breach monitoring.”

“And the UN?”

“They’re not happy,” Helen Jiang speaks up from the dining table, combing one hand through her long black hair. “But right now the Jaeger program is in good graces and the UN is not thanks to the Wall.”

The former commander of the Hong Kong Shatterdome, Marshal Yun, smirks faintly. “They cannot even fault Stacker on his association with Hannibal Chau. His actions have saved us all, however questionable the UN may find it.”

Mako feels the lump rise up in her throat, unexpected emotion to swamp her.

 _Sensei_.

He anchored her life for so long, her fixed point of reference. He guided her studies in Jaeger technology, instructed her in the fighting discipline for Rangers, taught her how to pilot a Jaeger. With him, she learned how to confront her elders, how to stand firm in the face of opposition, and how to see trouble when it was coming from afar.

She misses him.

Raleigh stirs, down by Mako’s feet, pressed up against her legs and the upholstered front of the armchair. “What do you want from us?”

Herc meets their gazes, direct. “If they reinstate the official program, are you two in?”

“Yes.” There is no hesitation in either of their answers.

His certainty burns within her, as hers burns within him.

* * *

Raleigh is already in the hotel gym, slick with sweat as he works his way towards exhaustion. Mako waves a hanbõ beneath his nose, and his eyes brighten.

Thirty minutes later, they have an audience and a YouTube channel.

* * *

America loves Raleigh.

The clips of his first stint with the Jaeger program are shown everywhere – the Becket boys, smiling for the cameras, waving to the crowds, signing pictures and shirts and toys and body parts...

Mako is not forgotten in the publicity tour mandated by the UN and the PPDC, but the attention on Raleigh is disproportionate. She would not mind this but for the stress it places on him – to have his loss cast up to him again and again and again.

It weighs upon them both, waking and sleeping, the lingering echoes of the Drift leaving her in no doubt of his mindset.

“It feels like another life,” he says one day as they ride back to the hotel in the limousine. “We were so young. I was eighteen, Yancy was twenty-one. And we were going to save the world.”

Grief clogs her throat and she’s not sure if it’s her own memories of eighteen or his – on top of the world, filled with love and triumph and belief that they could shake the world with their loved one beside them...

She reaches for his hand.

He uncurls his fingers, and lays his palm against hers, seeking the touch they do not often allow themselves.

“You did save the world.”

Raleigh stills at her words.

“You saved the world with me and Gipsy Danger. And Yancy is a part of us, too, in the Drift.”

“You can always find me in the Drift.”

It aches in her throat. “Yes.”

His smile is slow, with a depth and tenderness lacking in the cocky grin of his younger self. Raleigh Becket of The Becket Boys was a national hero, but Mako does not think she would have liked him so much. The man he grew into after Anchorage? That is a different matter.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Never mind.” His hand squeezes hers. “Just don’t ever stop.”

* * *

Her hands are cold in the early morning and every clash stings her fingers.

But Mako focuses and a slow flush of heat warms her fingers, until Raleigh yelps when she raps his hanbõ and his now-cold hands protest. He tilts his head. “Projective transference is cheating.”

“It’s a dialogue,” she reminds him sweetly, “not a fight.”

* * *

Vanessa Gottlieb is not what anyone would expect after meeting her husband.

 _Except for being pregnant,_ was Helen’s droll comment as Mako watched what _sensei_ used to call ‘the three-ring circus’ of the Gottliebs and Dr. Geiszler.

“Vanessa, perhaps it would be best—Don’t you think you should—”

“What Hermann is trying to say—I mean, not that you’re not perfectly capable—I don’t think—”

“That,” says Mrs. Gottlieb sharply to Dr. Geiszler, “is _exactly_ your problem, Newt! You don’t think! Hermann, I’m pregnant, not about to die, and the condition is going to continue for two more months! Mr. Becket!”

“Ma’am?” Raleigh blinks, confused at his sudden inclusion into the melee.

“Take these two somewhere and throw them off a balcony, please. For the sake of my sanity, and Miss Mori’s outfit for the celebration and presentation ball on Saturday.”

Raleigh glances at her, and Mako shrugs, ruefully. Dr. Gottlieb’s wife is a law unto herself – exquisite enough to front the cover of any magazine, intelligent enough to keep up with her husband and Dr. Geiszler, and with presence enough to command a Shatterdome.

“Mr. Becket. The balcony. Or else find Marshal Hansen and drag yourselves out to be measured for tuxedos. Seeing as the four of you are among the guests of honour tomorrow night.”

Once they’re gone, the dark beauty rolls her eyes. “You know, I expected Newt Geiszler, but a _kaiju_ brain fragment? That man is going to be the death of me!”

Mako isn’t entirely certain how to respond. Thankfully, Mrs Gottlieb doesn’t seem to expect anything from her on that point, as she’s chewing a nail while studying Mako thoughtfully with bright eyes. “Black with gold and blue,” she says at last. “High neck, close fitting – something conservatively cut, but with a thigh slit. Yes. Your Mr. Becket will definitely swallow his tongue.”

“He’s not mine,” Mako feels compelled to correct her.

Vanessa Gottlieb snorts. “And I’m only a _little_ bit pregnant, my dear.”

* * *

Her world is her body, the mat beneath her feet, the hanbõ in her hand, and Raleigh. He presses her hard, but she holds him at bay.

“ _In the moment, it is all about breath and balance_ ,” said _sensei_. “ _The rest is instinct. Your body must remember the moves._ ”

Attack and counter, defence and distract; Mako’s bones will remember this long after the rest of her body is dust.

* * *

There is music. Somewhere. Perhaps.

In Mako’s memory, _sensei_ is humming in his deep voice as he shows her how to waltz, a song of his childhood – something from a movie about a lost princess. But it’s Raleigh in her arms, holding her in his, and both of them are dancing to the murmur of that memory, slow and pounding as their hearts...

Hand to shoulder, hand to waist, hands warm and firm in each other. So close she can feel the heat of him through his shirt and jacket, through thin air and black velvet. The chandeliers cast halos across his hair, and the hint of a smile tilts his lips. They hold each other lightly and tightly in a room of hundreds, so many eyes upon them, speculation as thick as the breaths she can’t seem to take.

Or maybe it’s just the two of them, dancing out of the warmth of the ballroom and into biting wind and gusting snow by the sea. But even as their heads turn to regard the great metal fingers half-buried in the sand and the man who grins at his brother, rubble crunches beneath their feet and the air is thick with brick dust and the oily scent of dead _kaiju_.

_You can always find me in the Drift..._

She turns towards the sunlight, and the brightness brings sudden tears to her eyes. Or maybe it’s the pride and pleasure on _sensei’s_ usually stern face, and the grins of the women who watch with him, one head of scarlet flame, one head of glittering coal.

A sob rises in her throat, in the crowded ballroom that spins around them like a dream.

“I’m here,” Raleigh murmurs.

Her eyes sting. “I know.”

“We’re in this together, okay?” He leans his forehead leans against hers – an anchor in the here and now, not the there and then of the Drift. “Together.”

“Yes,” she says, affirmation and answer.

* * *

She doesn’t dream of Vijay often. It’s better that way, not to miss what never had the chance to be.

_His_ _stubble scrapes an itchy tickle across her belly., making her laugh as she runs her hand along his upturned cheek._

“ _Shave me later.” His smile is a burning sweetness as he kisses his way down her body, but his eyes are blue, not brown and the dark curls have turned to blond when he looks up at her gasp._

Mako wakes aroused and confused.

* * *

 

Anchorage is difficult for both of them, but more so for Raleigh.

Her memories of _sensei_ are strong and painful in this city – the years he spent as Shatterdome Commander while she was studying at the Academy, the places he took her, the things he taught her. Still, that pales beside Raleigh and the attention focused upon him. _He's the prodigal son_ , says Helen, _for whom the fatted calf has been well and truly slaughtered._

Mako kidnaps him one afternoon when they should be having their pictures taken at the Shatterdome – now the property of an Alaskan oil magnate and in the middle of a ‘redesign and redevelopment’. She understands the desire to rebuild, to make new, but her soul rebels against it all the same. Some things should be sacred.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” she tells him as she clunks gears in the truck she borrowed from a former Shatterdome J-tech who also assisted in their escape.

Raleigh snorts softly as he fiddles with the radio stations. “I’m driving home.”

Mako relaxes into the driving once they’re out on the highway, free of the pressure and the obligations and the stares. She had no particular plan for this afternoon, other than to find somewhere his memories would not be shoved into his face.

And in that she, too, fails.

“Wait.” His hand touches her knee as they’re about to pass a side road. “Down here.”

She turns north, onto the side road, and a minute later realises where they are going and stops the truck in the middle of the road. “Raleigh, you do not need—”

“Mako,” is all he says.

They climb out of the truck at the beach and he moves like a man in a dream until they reach the place where Gipsy Danger fell, where the young man he was came to land and died. He gropes for her hand, and she slips her fingers into his and they stand there in the wind and his memories.

* * *

Mako wakes to the pat of a little boy’s hand and a man’s murmur to be gentle. Beyond the small, dark-eyed face, Raleigh smirks, already fully awake.

“I’m giving Tendo and Alison a sleep-in. Wanna help?”

They watch cartoons on the couch while Caleb tries to decide whose lap he prefers.

* * *

LA is people and noise and fuss and memories of Vijay. Interviewers that want to know about her relationship with Raleigh after the ball in New York, after they vanished in Anchorage. Publicists and film-makers and script-writers and _fame_.

Mako doesn’t want any of it. She never did.

She excuses herself from a meeting one afternoon to go to the restroom, texts an apology to Herc, and escapes into the streets of the city, with her hoodie pulled up and her blue tips tucked behind her ears.

On the rooftop of the LA Shatterdome, the wind makes a mess of her hair, but blows her soul clean in a silent purge of cold grief and hot tears.

Apart from those six short months with Vijay, all she ever wanted was to fight _kaiju_ , to become the monster they feared. To be what _sensei_ taught her to be with every breath he drew – a woman who would not lay down to die, who would keep fighting to the last, who would be a part of ending the war, whatever form that took.

She has done that – killed a _kaiju_ , piloted a Jaeger, closed the Breach.

What now?

Vijay could envision a world without _kaiju_ , his eyes bright as he stared out at the horizon with her and they spoke of the things they would do when the war was over. When he died, he took her dreams with him, leaving behind only the things she’d yearned for as a child: vengeance for her family and the life she’d lost to the _kaiju_ , and an end to the war.

_Never really thought about the future until now._

Mako supposes that makes two of them.

Raleigh arrives with food after the sun has extinguished itself in the sea. He brings _tacos_ _ár_ _abes_ and asks nothing of why she ran, or how he knew to find her here. He says nothing of Vijay.

Instead, he sits with her in the evening wind and leaves her to her own thoughts, even as he shares in her memories.

Some things are sacred.

* * *

She’s been drunk before, although never on a kwoon mat with Raleigh, using his stomach as a pillow on a warm summer evening in Lima.

Raleigh props himself up on one elbow and strokes a finger along her cheek, grinning. “You go pink when you’re drunk.”

As a matter of fact, she doesn’t.

* * *

“How’s the hangover?”

Mako looks up from her tablet and the document she hasn’t been reading – too busy watching the twins and Raleigh play what Helen’s ten year-old daughter Naomi calls ‘dunk-and-dunker’ in the swimming pool down in the garden area. “I’m sorry?”

Helen sits down, smiling beneath her hat. “The Drift hangover? How are you dealing?”

“It is not so strong as it was.” Mako watches as Raleigh bends to say something to Naomi who giggles and nods before darting away through the water. The sunlight gilds him, muscle and mischievous grin. She does not think they dream together so much anymore. Given her dreams, perhaps that is no bad thing.

“Regretting you didn’t sleep with him before?” Mako flushes and tries to glare, but Helen only snorts. “Mako, I gave you the sex-and-relationships talk when you were fourteen because Stacker was too chicken and Tam was too sick.”

She’s not sure how to take the older woman’s tone. “You don’t like him?”

“I like him very much. He’s got a good heart, a sensible head, and he’s a fine piece of real estate as well. But I’m more interested in whether _you_ like him.”

“He is my Drift partner—”

“That’s not an answer.” Helen’s interruption is gentle beneath the shrieks and squeals rising beneath the blue of a Sydney summer. “You don’t have to like someone to be Drift-compatible – you’ve seen Herc and Chuck. For most pilots who are family or already in a relationship, the Drift connection is the endpoint – the psychological embodiment of an emotional openness that already exists in the relationship.”

“Your sisters.”

“Yes.” Helen exhales. “Even before the Drift, they would finish each other’s sentences and cue each other’s jokes – it drove me nuts. For unrelated pilots, it’s just the beginning. And it’s not easy to work out which part is the Drift connection and which part is actually liking each other. For some couples, it’s easier to fall into bed and let the sex work it out than it is to consider how much of it is Drift and how much is them.”

Down in the pool, Raleigh grabs Mikey and wrestles him down into the water, only to be leapt upon by Naomi who shoves Raleigh and her twin under with a scream of triumph.

When he surfaces, he’s laughing, one hand slicking through sodden hair. His head turns unerringly towards Mako, as though he can feel her gaze upon him.

His grin jolts through her like the force of a plasma cannon.

No, this is not the Drift.

This is _more_.

* * *

Mako’s fingers trace the words of the poem on the memorial plaque by the Sydney Shatterdome – _they shall not grow old as we grow old_ – Raleigh beside her as the rest of the dignitaries keep a respectful distance.

Herc crouches at the edge of the launch deck, his hands scrubbing Max’s fur as he stares blindly into the sun rising over the glittering blue ocean.

* * *

If Mako thought America was wild for Raleigh, Asia is wild for _her_.

Shoving, jostling, screaming crowds who want to see her, touch her, hug her. There are talk shows and dinners and presentations and memorials…

In Jakarta, their motorcade is hemmed in by people in the street until the PPDC can get the military in to push the crowds back. Manila is just as bad, and Shanghai is worse.

Raleigh and Herc try to take some of the burden from her. Drs. Geiszler and Gottlieb pick fights on the talk shows, trying to give her a chance to draw breath, but to no avail. The audiences want to hear about _her_ and her colleagues are inadequate substitutes.

“It won’t work,” Vanessa Gottlieb says, exasperated when the men argue about how they can protect Mako from the worst of the publicity. “There’s never been someone like her before. Tokyo’s Daughter, saviour of the planet, intelligent and independent. Mako’s all the people who’ve never been seen to be heroes before – and you wonder they’re going mad for her?”

Mako does not need the protection, although she appreciates their concern.

“Will you manage?” Helen asks gently one evening after a dinner where the speeches and toasts went on forever – each of the Wei triplets, Mako, Stacker, the Kaidonovskies, Herc, Raleigh, Chuck... By the end of it, Mako was exhausted – she’d already done two interviews and a photoshoot for a women’s magazine that day. “If you want a break, I’ll speak with Vanessa and we’ll take on the PPDC if we have to.”

Mako thinks of something Tamsin once said of her cancer – well out of _sensei’s_ hearing: _This, too, will pass._ She thinks, too, of the little girl today who shyly asked for a picture – no more than nine, wearing shiny black shoes and a duffle coat in the Beijing cold.

“I can do it.”

Raleigh waits until Helen has left. “There’s still Japan to go. And Russia.”

Mako sits down beside him on the sofa, slipping off her shoes and folding her legs beneath her as she looks from the bright lights of Beijing to him. “And then?”

“Anywhere you want to go.”

_Anywhere you are._

* * *

Her dreams are not confusing anymore.

When she finally stumbles out of her room, tea and Chinese rice porridge are set in front of her as she sits down. And Raleigh’s grin is far too smug for a man who slept alone last night and took a cold shower this morning.

Mako catches his t-shirt before he steps away. He hardly needs the tug to pull him down.

His mouth tastes better than it did in their dream.

* * *

Mako doesn’t need the crunch of gravel to know Raleigh’s paused at the edge of the memorial garden.

“He was my home.” She doesn’t look away from the stone monument – a sculpture of Coyote Tango in memory of all those who died in the PPDC, fighting the _kaiju_. “For so many years, he was home.”

“A fixed point.”

Faded papers flutter in the bare-branched cherry tree above her, tattered by the wind and weather. The newest ones still show the names stark against the yellowing parchment: Stacker Pentecost, Charles Hansen, Wei Cheung, Wei Jin, Wei Hu, Sasha Kaidonovsky, Aleksis Kaidonovsky...

“It doesn’t feel like the war is over.”

“It doesn’t feel real.” Raleigh sits down beside her, and she leans into him, against his shoulder.

They sit there as the wind whistles through the crevices of the sculpture and rustles the paper overhead, until Mako breaks the silence. “I never thought beyond the war.”

“You couldn’t see that far. I couldn’t either, until you.” His mouth presses against her hair. “You want to stay with the Jaeger Program.”

“Even if it’s not funded again, there is work in the study of the Jaeger systems – the technology driven by the neural handshake has other uses – industry, mining, medical. We have experience with the Jaeger technology.”

“ _You_ have experience with the Jaeger technology. I’d pretty much be a guinea pig.”

Mako smiles and reaches up to rub his cheek, soft bristles beneath her fingers. “Yes. But you would be _my_ guinea pig.”

Raleigh laughs as he turns his head and kisses her palm.

* * *

When they return to the Osaka Shatterdome that afternoon, Marshal Keiko Uchibori is bright with news. “Mori- _san_ , Becket- _san_ , have you heard? We have Hong Kong!”

“And more,” Herc says with satisfaction. “They’re going to build a Mark V-E, possibly even repair Crimson Typhoon. And we got the research division, too.”

Tension lifts from her shoulders. She looks to Raleigh and his smile matches her own.

Hong Kong, where the war ended, where they began.

 _Home_.

* * *

On the first day of the rest of their lives, she wakes in Raleigh’s bed, with his face pressed into her neck, her spine flush against his chest, his hand possessive on her hip.

He knows the moment she’s awake. She doesn’t have to look to be aware he’s waiting for her move.

So she turns in his arms, sliding her hands under his t-shirt – lean muscle, hot flesh, sensitive skin. He tilts his head down to kiss her, a ferocious tenderness in his eyes as their mouths meet. He kisses her as though she’s a wonder, as though she’s something to be worshipped.

“This isn’t the Drift,” she says when air becomes a need.

“This is _us,_ ” he murmurs, his chest heaving against hers, a fierce wonder etched in his face. “You and me.” And it’s more than enough.

Desire is like a wound, an ache that’s more than mere physicality.

It stings Mako when she pulls off his tee and traces the keloid marks of loss the drivesuit etched in his skin with fingertip and tongue. It nips when his teeth close over her nipple and he sucks so powerfully that Mako sees stars. It bites deep when she closes her hand over his erection – hot and thick and hard – and he presses his fingers down between her thighs – soft and wet and swollen.

He knows how to make her come, knows how she likes to be stroked. She knows to let him drive this first time, knows that he needs to feel her acceptance of him – scars and all – before he’ll trust she wants him.

And when Raleigh strokes her over, his lips are fierce on hers, urging her on, and his pleasure at her pleasure is like a flame in her mind, in his mind, in their minds...

“Now you,” she says when she can form words again, before lassitude has ebbed.

He fits into her, heavy and thick, his chest heaving as he holds himself up off her, so careful, as though she’s fragile. Her arms go around his neck, and her knee hooks over his hip as she thrusts up and he gives in with a groan and lets himself sink deep.

Then they move – not in unison, like in a Jaeger, but in harmony, as in the Kwoon.

Her nails bite into his buttocks as she yanks him closer. His cries grow rough as he arches in her flesh. Her orgasm sweeps them both out into a sea of pleasure, and his release rolls tides of sensation over them. The distinction between _she_ and _he_ is blurred, fogged, lost, until time and tenderness washes Mako up on a panting shore of consciousness, Raleigh warm and heavy in her arms.

For long moments, they can’t move, can’t speak, can’t think.

Then Raleigh shifts. “I’m yours,” he murmurs into her collarbone, gentle as a caress and fierce as a promise. “I always will be.”

“You’re over the limit.” Mako smiles against his temple. “I think I’ll keep you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helen Jiang and her family are my original characters - Australians involved with the Jaeger project from early on. She was one of the psychologists assigned to study and work with Jaeger pilots encountering problems with the Drift, and her sisters were Jaeger pilots. Her husband, Desmond, was on of the J-Techs in the Sydney LOCCENT before the PPDC shut down the Shatterdome.
> 
> I know Travis Beacham (writer) has said that Vanessa Gottlieb is a model. However, in this story, she has some modelling background, but ended up in PR for the PPDC and the Jaeger program.
> 
> The song Stacker hummed when teaching Mako how to dance is from _Anastasia_ \- [this sequence](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cD-m7v3eAoI). I may have borrowed the idea of Mako and Raleigh dancing from the 'deleted scene' in one of the early drafts of the script.
> 
> In my headcanon, the Sydney Shatterdome is situated on top of [Middle Head Fortifications](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Middle_Head_Fortifications) \- the point where Scissure first made land in the 2014 attack - and the inscription on the memorial is from the "Ode of Remembrance" which is recited every ANZAC Day, and on most Australian war memorials in the line: _Lest We Forget_.

**Author's Note:**

> With many grateful thanks to **[grav_ity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grav_ity/pseuds/grav_ity)** and **[verbosewordsmith](http://verbosewordsmith.tumblr.com/)** for their suggestions and concrit!


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